


Gingerbread House

by kaletra7



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Christmas, Coming Out, Family Bonding, Fluff, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 01:01:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30131592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaletra7/pseuds/kaletra7
Summary: "Is it some kind ofRomeo & Juliet,type shit? Your mom and dad got a rival family somewhere in the suburb?"That one claws another hollow laugh out of her, so he takes that as a small victory. "No. It's just-""He's not some creepy college-aged kid, is he?""Sam-""Because if I find out there's some guy in his twenties lurking around middle schools looking for a girlfriend, I'm gonna be having conversations.""It's not aguy, Sam."--Cassie confides in Sam. Sam is a little confused, but he's got the (Christmas) spirit.
Relationships: Cassie Drake/Original Female Character(s), Chloe Frazer/Nadine Ross, Nathan Drake/Elena Fisher
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14





	Gingerbread House

**Author's Note:**

> "I won't disappear completely," she says. "I will continue to write Uncharted family bonding fics," she says. "I love this adorable little squad," she says.
> 
> Well, she's finally here to make good on her age-old promises.
> 
> Sam is so much fun to write.

Fourteen years ago, just before the first annual Drake-Fisher-Sullivan Family Christmas Extravaganza (which had not yet earned that title), Nathan had warned Sam that Elena loved Christmas. Sam, being the naïve, innocent soul that he was back then, had taken this to mean that she loved Christmas a very reasonable and normal amount, the way any other sane person on the planet might.

He had been wrong. She _really fucking loved Christmas_.

By the time the new year rolled around, Sam had been eight pounds heavier (all turkey weight), several hundred dollars lighter (the Cassie Drake gift fund), and absolutely mentally-crippled by the sheer number of irritatingly catchy little jingle-bell-type songs that refused to leave him alone, even in the dead of night. He'd been polite, said his goodbyes, and vowed to Victor that they would never, _ever_ be doing this again.

He'd been wrong about that, too.

\--

"I thought you'd given up."

Sam whirls like he's been shot, clutching his hands reflexively to his abdomen as he faces his sneaky little assailant. "Jesus Christ," he huffs under his breath, before narrowing his eyes at Cassie and bringing the lighter back up towards his face. "What are you, huh? The cigarette police?"

She's bundled up so tightly against the cold that he can barely see her through the protective layers of wool and fleece, but the glint of mischief in his niece's eyes is visible even past the scarf-hat combination that covers most of her face. Cassie's a sun baby, for sure. Relishes the summer, and not just for the expeditions she gets carried off on - though Sam is sure they help. Illuminated by the glow of the porch lights reflected on snow, though, Sam is confronted by a much grouchier niece than he's familiar with. She's been in a foul mood since he and Victor arrived a couple days ago. Though he can't exactly blame her. Least favourite weather, _and_ newly a teenager. God, he doesn't envy her parents.

"Yeah," she declares, folding her arms. "So you're gonna need a license to smoke. And I don't think you've got one of those, so-" Cassie clicks her tongue. "It's gotta go."

He's never been able to refuse a direct order from a Cassandra Drake. 

"Alright, alright, keep your hair on, officer." As much as he's craving the sweet, sweet release of nicotine, he's willing to surrender just this once. Since she asked so nicely. His fingers tremble a little as he crams the unlit cigarette back into his pocket. He tells himself it's the cold. "What're you doin' out here, kid? You're gonna catch your death."

Cassie steps out a little further and slides the glass door closed behind her. "I saw you sneaking around. Figured I should make sure you weren't doing anything shady."

"Oh, yeah, 'cause I'm gonna get into a lot of trouble in your back yard. What am I gonna do, steal the tire swing's wallet?"

"Actually," she says in a hauntingly-accurate impression of her mother, "You _are_ doing something shady."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," he grouses. "You caught me and my shame cigarette red-handed, congratulations. You want a medal?"

"Why're you so _grumpy_?"

"Why're _you_ so grumpy?"

Cassie narrows her eyes. "I'm not."

Feigning surprise, Sam clutches one hand to his chest. "Oh, you're _not_? Oh, well, my mistake. Carry on with your night, ma'am."

She gives his shoulder a half-hearted punch. There's no real effort to it, and it's cushioned by both mittens and jacket, but Sam still reacts like her knuckles are bladed. Like that one guy in the movies she likes. " _Careful_! You're a dangerous killing machine. I could lose my arm."

He expects her to play along, so the silence that follows almost feels like another punch. Harder, this time. With feeling. And less wool. "Tough crowd," he mutters under his breath, and Cassie treats that one with a reedy little laugh. The porch creaks under her feet as she steps up to join him. Sam half-considers stopping her when she starts climbing the wooden rail he's leaning on, but even shaped like a marshmallow, she makes it look effortless. Of course she does, she's her father's daughter, through-and-through. But he's entitled to his concerns. The last thing he wants is to have to spend the early hours of Christmas Day in the emergency room while his niece gets her skull glued back together. Or whatever it is they do for head wounds these days.

Elena would never forgive him.

"Can I ask you something?" She's not looking at him.

"As long as you promise not to fall. Shoot."

"Have you ever-? I mean, you know, has there ever been-? ... I don't know, but, like, have you ever had a-? No. Erm..."

"You wanna come up with the question before you ask it?" Sam says drily, and Cassie shoots him a withering look. There's no witty retort, though, which concerns him enough to keep quiet and wait for this all-important question. The porch rail creaks a little in protest - as does his back - when he pulls himself up to join her. He's not worried. It's an Elena Fisher build. There's no way a single part of it could ever even _consider_ breaking.

He's never seen Cassie like this. Sure, he only sees her for a couple of scattered months every year, but in that time, he's never seen her so wound up about anything. She's like Nathan in that regard. No looking before leaping. (Metaphorically speaking, of course, because Sam likes to think he's emphasised to both of them the importance of a very, _very long_ look before any legitimate leaping.) The point is, this Cassie Drake - with the weight of the world on her shoulders - is a far cry from the Cassie Drake he's familiar with. 

Should he be nervous? He should probably be nervous.

"Have you ever liked somebody you shouldn't?" she manages, finally, and Sam doesn't hesitate for a moment.

"All the fucking time."

" _Language_!" Cassie admonishes immediately.

He can't help but laugh. "Sorry. All the time. No fucking."

An elbow jabs into his ribs, sharp despite the padding around it. Sam stifles his laughter, trying to keep a straight face to match her own stern expression. "Be serious," she pouts.

"Okay, okay," he promises, holding his hands up in the universal sign for surrender. "I'm being serious. Is that what's bothering you?"

She hesitates for a moment, then drops her chin in a defeated little nod.

(Honestly, he's relieved. He thought she might ask a question about homework. Or tampons.)

"Alright." He tries to soften his voice. Embody the wise, approachable uncle she seems to think he is. "So, what's the problem? Why shouldn't you like this guy?" When she doesn't immediately answer, he keeps talking. "It's not because your folks say you're too young to date, is it? 'Cause I don't wanna start overriding their rules. Your mom will skin me alive."

Cassie sighs. "No, it's not that."

"What's goin' on, Cass?" She's never been shy about airing her thoughts. Her acting this closed off is... well, it's _bizarre_. "He got a girlfriend?"

"No."

At this point, Sam's just throwing things out and hoping they stick. "He go to a different school?"

"No."

"Okay. Is it some kind of _Romeo & Juliet_ type shit? Your mom and dad got a rival family somewhere in the suburb?"

That one claws another hollow laugh out of her, so he takes that as a small victory. "No. It's just-"

"He's not some creepy college-aged kid, is he?"

"Sam-"

"Because if I find out there's some guy in his twenties lurking around middle schools looking for a girlfriend, I'm gonna be having conversations."

"It's not a guy, Sam."

"Oh." It takes him a moment to figure it out. Mainly because he's too busy thinking about breaking his knuckles over some pervert's face to actually pay attention. " _Oh_!"

"Yeah." She sounds miserable. " _Oh_."

"C'mere."

Faster - and with considerably more force - than he'd expected, Cassie barrels into him and melts against his side so easily that it feels like she's falling asleep. His grip on the railing isn't precarious enough for concern, but he still white-knuckles it a little harder with his non-Cassie hand, just to be on the safe side. The other arm goes around her shoulders, gives her a reassuring little squeeze. He hopes she isn't crying. Because if she cries, he's gonna cry, and that's absolutely not within the parameters of Christmas spirit.

"You told your dad?" he asks quietly. Feels her shake her head in response.

_Yes!_

"Just your mom?" Another no.

_Double yes! He's the best family member. It's official. Confirmed._

_Not that this is at all about him. But still. Victory._

"I haven't told anyone," she says with a little sniffle that he pointedly ignores. Sam gives her shoulders another squeeze. A totally unrelated squeeze.

"Well, colour me honoured." He smiles down at her, waiting until she catches his eye before he winks. It always makes her laugh, and though he'd had his doubts it would work this time, she cracks into a toothy grin that starkly contrasts the sparkling tears that haven't quite spilled. "Jesus, Cass, is this what's been eatin' you the whole time?"

"Yeah!" She sounds defensive. Which makes sense, he supposes, 'cause it's gotta be a hell of a thing to say, but he can't make a whole lot of sense about why she'd be quite so worried about it. No-one around her is enough of an asshole to- well, _be an asshole_ about it. Except maybe her Uncle Ben.

(On the other hand, Sam might just be projecting. Elena's brother has been solidly on Sam's shit list ever since the second annual Drake-Fisher-Sullivan Family Christmas Extravaganza, when Elena introduced them and Ben had sneered and said, "Ah, the _convict_." Cassie had thrown up on his cashmere sweater less than two minutes later. Karma's a bitch, and his niece has been a genius since birth.)

"Kid, you've got nothing to worry about."

"Well, I knew _you'd_ be fine about it," she says, not sounding entirely convinced, but Sam likes to think he knows when to open his mouth and when to keep it firmly closed. "You hang out with Chloe and Nadine, like, all the time."

He frowns. Furrows his brow in his best approximation of confusion. "Chloe and Nadine?"

Cassie blinks at him like he's an idiot. Perfect. "Yeah?"

"Chloe Frazer?"

"Yeah."

"Nadine Ross?"

"... Don't tell me you didn't know! _Sam_!"

"Are you telling me, that Chloe Frazer - our Chloe Frazer - and Nadine Ross...?"

" _Sam_ , are you _blind_?!"

He lets her pull her phone of her pocket and start thumbing through some app full of pictures before he gives her enough of a smirk that she can catch it. "Oh, _hilarious_ ," Cassie grumbles with a scowl when she finally notices, waving a photo of Chloe planting a kiss on Nadine's cheek in front of his face regardless.

"The hilarious part is that your dad still hasn't figured it out."

"Well, you know how he is with stuff like this," she says, gesturing with her phone before shoving it - and her hands - back into her pockets. "And it's not like they act all couple-y in front of us."

"I mean, they probably don't want to make it weird."

"Why would it be weird?"

"Well, with Chloe being your dad's ex and all that-"

"My dad's _what_?!"

"Okay, yeah, I get it, two can play at that game," he laughs, only to turn and find her gaping at him like a fish. "... You're messing with me, right, Cass?"

" _No!_ "

It's loud enough that Sam reflexively looks up, checks the curtains aren't shifting and he's not about to get yelled at for keeping the kid up on Christmas Eve. "Alright, they kept that one on the down-low. Good to know. Pretend I didn't say anything."

Cassie makes a face. "Ew."

"Yeah, tell me about it."

The silence is pleasant. Cassie stays curled up against him, probably for warmth as much as comfort, and Sam fights the urge to order her back inside. Not that she'd listen to him anyway, but he's enjoying being Family Member Numero Uno, and he'd hate to throw that away on something as trivial as the possibility of a cold. "So," he says eventually. "Girls, huh?"

Cassie laughs, which was absolutely the intended result. "Yeah," she says, a little more confidently than she had before.

"Boys too?"

She considers the question for a moment. "I _think_ so. I don't know. Maybe."

"Ah, you don't gotta know for sure, it's okay. But speaking from the experience of someone who once _was_ a teenage boy: they're disgusting and you should avoid them at all costs."

"I'll keep it in mind." 

An unpleasantly icy gust of wind rattles through the yard. Cassie shivers, and Sam's mind wanders absent-mindedly to his coat pocket. "Are you still a duty-bound member of the cigarette police?" he asks, "Or are you willing to let one slide in the spirit of Christmas?"

Cassie narrows her eyes. " _Hmm_..." she verbalises, daring him to come up with an excuse.

"It's what the Baby Jesus would want."

"I don't think that's true."

"It is. I grew up Catholic, I know this shit."

Cassie wrenches one hand out of her pocket and holds it out to him, palm flat. "Thirty bucks."

" _Thirty b-?_ You've been spending too much time around Victor."

"Maybe so." She gives her fingers a sharp little curl; a gesture that anyone with a brain cell would recognise as meaning 'hand it over'. "Either way, my silence costs thirty bucks."

It takes him an embarrassingly short time to decide. Grumbling under his breath the whole time, Sam ferrets for his wallet and opens it to find the set of crisp fifties he'd exchanged at the airport. Christmas is all about generosity, after all - despite how much he's already blown on buying her a gift this year - so he tries not to up the complaining as he fishes one out and slaps it onto her waiting palm. "Keep the change, ya filthy animal," he quotes, and Cassie's laughter is like bells when she tucks her hand back into her pocket.

"Go on, then. But _don't_ get ash on my hat."

It's not ideal, trying to light a cigarette in a wind-trap like this goddamned back yard, but Sam has coped with far worse. He's been cutting back, ever since Cassie made him and Victor promise to quit, but going cold turkey is _hard_. He can only assume Victor has been sneaking shame cigars the same way he's been skulking off to power through shame cigarettes, else the old man has the willpower of stone-cold steel.

"Do you think they're gonna be weird about it? Mom and Dad?" Cassie asks as Sam takes the first sweet, sweet drag, and the relief washes over him like a warm bath. His fingers aren't trembling any more. Jesus, he's an addict. It's a damned good job he never got particularly into anything harder. Nicotine is one of the lesser sins, in terms of substances that one can find on the inside. Sister Catherine once told him she had no doubt he'd end up a junkie. Sam: one; Nuns: zero. Thirteen years in a Panamanian prison, sure, but not _once_ did he _ever_ touch smack. _Suck it, nuns_.

"Nah," he says, and means it. "Your mom won't bat an eyelid, promise. And your dad; okay, maybe he'll be weird. But not _bad_ -weird. Just weird-weird. He'll read some article called 'How to Show Your Gay Daughter That You Accept Her' and then try and pepper the whole thing into one conversation while you're trying to watch TV."

Cassie snorts. "Wow, it's like you know him or something."

"You're very sarcastic for a nine-year-old."

"I'm thirteen, Sam."

"I know, dumbass."

"It's just-" she begins, then falters. Sam stays quiet, lets her have her thinking time. "I just don't want anything to change."

He nods. It makes sense. "Okay, you remember Christmas four- five years ago? Your mom told me to put a gingerbread house together but I couldn't make it stay up and it kept collapsing-"

"-And you called it a motherfucker, and then I remembered that word and said it in front of Uncle Ben, and he spat mulled wine all over his shirt?"

"Hilarious, but not the point I was making. No, eventually you told your mom I was doing it wrong, and then you, your mom, and your dad all came to put me out of my misery, and you had that thing done and sturdy and ready-to-go in less than five minutes. And that gingerbread house stayed standing all the way through to the new year."

"-Until you shot it with a nerf gun."

"Again, not the point. What I'm trying to say, Cass, is that the three of you work together like nothing I've ever seen. And this gingerbread house-" He points over his shoulder. "-is far too strong to be knocked over by something as simple as you wanting to hold hands with a girl." He holds up a finger. "And holding hands _only_ , 'cause there's no kissing until you're eighteen."

She purses her lips. "Is that right?"

Sam nods. Huffs out a lungful of smoke, locked in a futile battle with the wind to try and prevent any from blasting back into Cassie's face. "Cross my heart."

A quiet little cough pushes its way out of her, and a pang of guilt immediately surges through Sam. Cassie doesn't seem too bothered, though, and gives his arm a little squeeze, like a reassurance. "Get upwind," he orders, and Cassie happily swings her legs and hops down into the yard, trudging around the steps to climb back up to his left. "Atta-girl."

"It's so cold out here," Cassie whines in response, and Sam silently congratulates her on going this long without complaining about it. Frankly, it's gotta be a new record for her.

"No-one's stopping you from going in."

She shakes her head vehemently. "I'm keeping you company. And you've only paid for one cigarette, so I've got to make sure you're not trying to sneak more."

"I see," Sam says thinly, far more contended now that he can smoke without fear of suffocating his niece. "Well, in that case-" he begins, working through his cigarette as quickly as possible so he can coax her back into the warmth of the house. "I want to spend my extra twenty bucks on some information about this girl."

Even in the darkness, Sam can see the flush bloom in Cassie's cheeks. "I want to hear about Rio," she counters.

"Oh, fuck Rio," he says. "It's hot, there's a big statue, so what?" 

" _Language!_ "

"You've heard it before!" Sam nips the cigarette between his lips for a moment, so he can rub his hands together for the vaguest scrap of heat. "Come on, Cass, spill. Is she cute?"

She turns her head into her hood a little, in a futile attempt to hide the smirk he's already seen. "Yeah."

"Smart?"

"Yeah."

"What is she, a princess? Athlete? Basket-case?"

Cassie squints at him. "Are you referencing something?"

He tries - and fails - not to feel ancient. "Never mind. Come on, give me something. I need to know if she's good enough for you."

When she finally loosens up and decides to talk, she _really_ talks. Sam's grateful for it, honestly. Grateful that she's willing to share with him, sure, but equally grateful that she's taken up the mantle of speaking so he can finish his cigarette in relative peace and get both of them warm again as quickly as possible. He listens to her talk about this girl - _Yasmin_ , from her algebra class - for what feels like hours. Not because he's bored, but because the sheer amount of information that comes pouring out of his niece is absolutely staggering. He hopes there isn't going to be a test afterwards, tries to retain the essentials as best he can. She's a striker on the soccer team (cool), plays the oboe (slightly less cool in theory, though Cass seems pretty jazzed about it), joined up with Cassie's rock-climbing club (very cool), and is apparently better than any of the boys at some video game where you shoot undead Nazis (infinitely cool, if a little out of Sam's frame of reference). 

"- and at Halloween, they do this thing where they turn the gym into a haunted maze, and her friends went in without her so she came with me instead, and there was this zombie-werewolf that jumped out at everyone, and she grabbed my hand, and then, like, you know, held onto it the whole time while we ran through the rest of the maze."

"Uh-huh." Sam grins, and watches the suspicion creep into Cassie's features.

"What?"

"So you're telling me," he says, flicking the end of his cigarette down into the snow, "that she joined your rock-climbing club even though she's never done it before, somehow 'lost' her friends on Halloween so she could hang out with you instead, and then got so _scared_ of a zombie in a maze that she just _had_ to hold your hand, despite being an expert at a video game... involving zombies...? And you're _not sure_ if this girl likes you?"

She narrows her eyes. Purses her lips. Lets a little excitement show on her face before she pushes it down in favour of a cool indifference. "... You might have a point," she confesses eventually.

"I definitely have a point," Sam assures as he jumps down from the railing. It's nowhere near as light as her own dismount, and sends an unpleasant twinge through his hip, but he ignores it. "Ask her out," he presses as he walks around and back up the steps. "Worst thing she can do is say no."

"It's not that simple-" Cassie starts to protest.

"Sure it is." He holds out an arm to steady her as she spins around and hops down beside him. "You're a smart kid, Cass. Far too smart to like someone who's gonna be a dick. She clearly likes you; maybe just as a friend, maybe more. The only way you're gonna find out is if you take the plunge. If she says yes, great. If she says no, you've still got a really good friend."

"But what if she says no, and then doesn't want to be my friend anymore?"

He really can't see it. Maybe he's biased in thinking that his niece is clearly the coolest kid in the world, but he does. "Then good riddance, right?"

Cassie sighs, but gives him a sheepish little nod. "Right."

"Good." Sam turns, about to slide the porch door open, when he feels a pair of puffy, cushioned arms wrap around him.

"Thanks, Sam," she says, words muffled against his jacket, and Sam turns to pull her into a proper hug.

"No problem, kid."

When she finally lets him go, it's because she's darting around him to get into the house first. It's amusing to watch her shed the layers upon layers of outside clothes, until the walking marshmallow is gone and he can see his niece again. Her face is flushed pink from the cold, but she's smiling like he hasn't seen in a long time. 

By the time he's finished removing his snow-covered boots, she's pulled her phone out of her pocket and is waving it in his direction again. "Hey, Sam," she nudges when he doesn't immediately look, so he gives up on putting the boots neatly on the shoe rack and just flings them behind instead.

"Yeah?" He's greeted by the sight of the zeroes on her phone screen. Midnight.

"Merry Christmas."

Sam smiles. "Merry Christmas."

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I did write this in March. Yes, the pandemic did mean I didn't get to spend Christmas with my family. Yes, maybe I am projecting. Shut up. No, you.
> 
> When Nathan Drake said "I dated a Leo once" in the King's Bay bell tower in Uncharted 4, he should have followed it up with, "I think he was an Aries". Why are you booing me? I'm right.
> 
> Personally, I headcanon that the beach house is a summer home for the Drake-Fishers, but that they still live in the suburbs while Cassie goes to school. And Cassie hates it.
> 
> Don't come at me for my "ou"s, I'm British.


End file.
